


Lord Steven's Whimsy

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Steven is lately returned from the Great War, and employs the persona of the louche, laid-back playboy-about-town to disguise his crime solving activities (and, of course, to irritate his valet, Williams, no end).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord Steven's Whimsy

**Author's Note:**

> A comment ficlet. Unbetaed; archived for the sake of completeness.

"An American valet?" Lady Mary said dryly. "Shan't you be the talk of Kensington." She'd come back from Paris quite the flapper, to the despair of her lady's maid and what Steve was inclined to think was the secret amusement of their mother. Mary's hair was cropped in a silky blonde bob, and the last vestiges of the schoolgirl had been quite vanquished by the kohl which ringed her eyes, as dark as that favoured by the dancers of the Pigalle. Steve had hardly known her for his little sister when she'd stepped down from the train carriage that morning.

"He's hardly some sort of exotic specimen," Steve said, taking a cigarette from the enamelled case which she held out to him. "I shouldn't think anyone frightfully interested in him one way or another."

"New Jersey," Mary said, enunciating each syllable with care, leaning back in her chair and gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling—as if some long-dead ancestor had anticipated just such a turn of events and included the key to its deciphering in the architecture of his stately pile. "It does _sound_ rather exotic, you must admit—what did those colonials do to poor old regular Jersey to make it _new_? Something outrageous with Jersey cows?"

Steve, who had been involved in more things in New Jersey—and New York City, for that matter—that past summer than he would ever admit it (certainly not without ticking off some of the chaps in the diplomatic service no end); who had frequented more speakeasies than a respectable member of the British aristocracy should admit to; who had spent more time thinking about a pair of bright blue eyes and slicked-back blond hair than he particularly wanted to admit, even to himself... well, Steve just frowned and said, mock seriously, "I believe it has something to do with new applications of clotted cream."

Lady Mary laughed, but made no answer other than, "Do you want to take a quick turn about the grounds with me before supper? I'm terribly fagged still, but I think some fresh air will do me good."

Steve looked out the window—a brisk October breeze was shaking the last of the leaves from the branches, the Norfolk countryside painted in damp streaks of grey and brown and fading green—and shook his head. "No, old thing, you go on without me."

"Viscount McGarrett, refusing an opportunity to go tromping through fresh mud?" Mary said, checking her reflection in the looking glass which hung over the fireplace. "Tell the mamas! Alert the society pages! He's reformed and become _respectable_."

Steve laughed. "Never that, Mare. It's just that Williams has views about mud on newly polished shoes, and I think if I ruin another pair of Oxfords this year, he will declare me disowned."

Mary looked over at him sharply, a look of suspicion on her face that quite reminded Steve of their mother—the Duchess was always the most impeccable and up-to-date source of society gossip for a reason. Though Steve didn't think there could have been anything incriminating in what he'd said, he schooled his face to an amiable blankness.

"Hrm," Lady Mary said. "Well, I shall see you at supper then, brother dear." She dropped a kiss on his cheek before heading out of the room.

Steve was just about to heave a sigh of relief and go in search of Danny when she poked her head back around the door and said, "And d'you know, I think this is the perfect kind of evening for commandeering the library after we eat—for a cosy sort of sibling catch-up about our travels. I'm sure there's so much about America that you've still to tell me."

Mary's smile was bright and fixed, and reminded Steve not a little of the sharks which he'd spotted from the deck of the liner when he'd sailed back for Portsmouth.

Later that evening, Steve told Danny about Mary's less than subtle attempts at digging, and gained in return an expanded knowledge of what could be politely termed _low American slang_ from Danny's resulting rant. Curled up around Danny on his bed—on what Steve really wished could be their bed—Steve murmured, "Could be a problem."

"Yeah," Danny said, pressing a kiss to the soft skin just behind Steve's ear, "well, does it look like I care? Do you think I'm the least little bit impressed by your fancy family, your eminence?"

"'Your _lordship_ ', Danny."

"Eminence, lordship, pain in my ass—shut up and go to sleep."


End file.
